Post by TOUCHDOWN on Dec 10, 2022 4:10:00 GMT
“So… you’re ready to go?”
“Ready.”
“Ready.”
Two former friends stare awkwardly at one another, at the end of a foregone conclusion. Any possibilities of reconciliation evaporated as the days wound down towards the year’s final IPW pay-per-view.
“Alright. Well…”
He pauses, trying to find the words from some T.V show with a vaguely similar situation. Eventually, he just shakes his head.
“Have a nice life.”
Jimi Cooldown slings his bag over his shoulder, leaving the warehouse The Jamrockers had used as their training grounds and out into the cold.
Tuna Meltzer’s eyes wander towards the now-singular Jamrocker, pronounced by the vast open expanse of the warehouse surrounding him.
“So, what’s the plan now?”
Touchdown eyes the door as he speaks.
“Same as it always was, Tuna.”
Three
Two…
Two…
This On!?
Dangling on its side atop the wall, held by a single nail in the strap. The camera pulls back from its silver frame to reveal the rest of the significantly less ostentatious setting. A grungy bar with graffiti adorning the walls, cracks along the sticky garbage laden floor, half dressed waitresses moving back and forth. Among them stands a man in a leather jacket with his back towards the camera, looking towards the hanging title belt.
He turns, smirk on his face.
“Hello again, IPW fans.”
“I wanted to talk to you all about: expectations.”
“All of us have ‘em, even when we try to downplay them. The guys here in this fine establishment tonight, tryin’ fruitlessly to get a girl’s number…”
“I wanted to talk to you all about: expectations.”
“All of us have ‘em, even when we try to downplay them. The guys here in this fine establishment tonight, tryin’ fruitlessly to get a girl’s number…”
Touchdown gestures to the side as the camera pans over to see Tuna Meltzer, inaudibly flirting with a visibly disinterested woman at the bar.
“...He’s got expectations.”
We pan back to Touchdown.
“Everybody in the Limitless Chamber vying to be the next person to challenge me, they’ve got expectations. TJ Alexander, Spike Kane, Cross Recoba and many others, they all had expectations.”
With a violent yank, Touchdown pulls the Openweight Championship off its nail on the wall. Nearly tearing the strap.
“Even yours truly. When I first joined IPW, I had expectations. Ones of just jokin’ around, hangin’ with my best friend and makin’ a living.”
“But the lesson you, invariably, learn one way or another; is that expectations need to be tempered by reality.”
A waitress holding a tray passes by, moving so swiftly she doesn’t realise that Touchdown has lifted off a drink. He takes a sip.
“So, when you say all that great stuff about beating me to a pulp and using my bones to make your breakfast or whatever, those’re all expectations. Nice sentiment, but when it comes down to it, just words. When I bring up every defeat you’ve suffered thus far in IPW, including to me - when I was the previously mentioned guy who’s main interest was joking around and havin’ a good time - well, unfortunately for you, that is reality.”
Another, much larger, swig of his ill gotten drink before the Champ tosses it aside. Sound of glass shattering muffled under the music and chatter.
“Just like it’s reality how every challenger who’s come before and will likely come after you has had the same expectations and arguments you have. But it didn’t work out great for any of those, more successful competitors, did it, Jude? But, don’t you worry, with how much you hint at your tearjerking life story, I know generalisations aren’t your thing, you want special treatment. Well, the reasons that the things you want won’t come to pass are simple.”
Touchdown gestures to the camera to follow him as he moves, Meltzer noticing and quickly scrambling from his woo’ing to accompany Touchdown. Together they navigate through the club and push through a fire exit out into a nearby alley.
“When I call you a phony, it’s not because I don’t think you’re physically strong or that you haven’t suffered in life, it’s because you are the same as every other IPW philistine. Someone who buys into their own hype to the point they can’t foresee their own weaknesses. You, in that decrepit little shack, had a lotta colourful threats and insults, but you never had one valid based-in-reality reason as to how things would be different for you this time. You might not feel pain, but your lungs still need air and I’ve gone the distance with some of the best. Your limbs still need to function and I can target any opening you’ve got until you can’t force yourself to stand. Your mind still needs direction and I can cloud it with tricks and movements you can’t keep up with mentally or physically.”
He holds up a hand.
“But I’m not a hypocrite, I know where my weaknesses lie. S’why I’m a Champion, unlike yourself these days. Slugging it out or testing strength, not gonna bode well for me, so I cover my bases, I don’t allow you to try and play your game. Beating you. Humiliating you. Making my statement off the back of your destruction; that doesn’t come from kiddie threats and sob stories.”
“No it don’t. No it don’t!”
“It comes. When expectation…”
“No it don’t. No it don’t!”
“It comes. When expectation…”
Touchdown slaps the face of the belt.
“Meets reality.”
Tuna laughs and rubs his hands. Touchdown’s gaze shifts, the shadowed back of a man appears in frame. His size making him bleed past the edges of the screen.
“Ready to go?”
“Ready, boss.”
“Ready, boss.”
NO GODS, NO PHONIES...
...ONLY TOUCHDOWN!...
